Keeping Track

I woke up yesterday night needing to make a note about something or I'd forget it. I switched the light on and pulled a notebook out of the bedside cabinet, groped for a pen and looked for a blank space.

There was something already on the page where I'd written down what I was thinking some nights ago. I don't remember when or why and probably never will. What I'd written was:

Piles of bones lay scattered on the ceiling where they had fallen.

I wish the note I'd taken yesterday matched that beginning but it was only something prosaic about Arts and Crafts and Bauhaus.

Hey, that would be a good name for a band.